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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24237913">An oath to always keep</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLittleGrim/pseuds/LovelyLittleGrim'>LovelyLittleGrim</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon can fuck itself, F/M, Gentle, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post Season 8, Theon is alive and serving his Queen Sansa, hand holding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:42:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24237913</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLittleGrim/pseuds/LovelyLittleGrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She wakes screaming some nights—most nights really.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>An oath to always keep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She wakes screaming some nights—most nights really. When the wind is still and the moon is high in the sky, her voice travels down the stone halls like the wail of a banshee. The sound of it would raise the dead from their slumber if they didn’t burn them all and scatter their ashes to the northern winds. </p><p>The sound would wake Theon too, if he ever slept in the short hours, but he doesn’t. Each night he lays awake in his chambers, eyes fixed wide and tired upon the shadowed stone, waiting. Always, always waiting. </p><p>It’s not his job, not by any royal decree from his queen, but he goes to her when her terrified cries fill the night. Silent like a ghost, he slips from his chambers and travels the lonely halls, fire light making the shadows dance around him as he goes. </p><p>Her guards are outside her doors as they always are, they stand a little straighter when they see him coming—even though he is no one—their relief is nearly palpable. No one enjoys hearing their Northern queen cry in the dark, no one enjoys the knowledge of what she has to endure. Theon is no longer stopped, or questioned as he approaches the heavy wooden doors to Sansa’s room. His queen's loyal guards greet him with nods as they quietly push open her door and allow him to slip inside. They trust him with their Queen, trust him to quell her fear soaked sobs and trust him to keep her safe.</p><p>The room is large and dark, but even still he can see Sansa’s. Her hair wild, like fire, as she thrashes in her bed, long locks tangled. Her face is crumpled, cheeks wet with tears. He moves closer, kneeling at her bedside. </p><p>“Your grace,” he says quietly, the way he always does. </p><p>It’s almost painfully familiar now, waking her like this. Slowly, carefully, never touching, never speaking louder than a whisper as he urges her towards consciousness. </p><p>Her breath hitches in her chest loudly and Theon imagines he can hear the beat of her heart as it thunders within her rib cage, like horses galloping. </p><p>“Your grace,” he murmurs again, watching as her eyelids flutter before finally parting, the wet strands of her lashes clumped together with tears.</p><p>Her gaze is wild and afraid, pale eyes flickering around the room in a rapid search of people long dead. People Theon would give anything to kill thrice over.  </p><p>“No, no, no,” she chants,” thin fingers twisting in her bedsheets. “No, please don’t.”</p><p>“Your grace, it’s okay...” he whispers, his own hands curling into fists at his sides. He always wants to reach out, hold her, soothe away the fear that runs like venom through her veins, but he’s learned over time to never touch. Not yet. Not until her eyes are clear and she knows who he is… who he’s not. </p><p>“<em>Sansa.</em>” </p><p>Her eyes fall to him, meeting his own at last, wet and wide. Her breath rattles from her chest like a winter cold. “Theon?” </p><p>“Yes, your grace,” He assures her, “It’s okay, now. You’re okay now.” </p><p>Her body slumps down, boneless and tired. “I…I...” she tries to say, but never finishes, voice catching in her throat.</p><p>She doesn’t have to finish. Theon knows what she’s going to say. <em> I saw him. I was there again. I’m afraid.  </em></p><p>Wordlessly, she holds out her hand and Theon takes it. Permission to touch, to hold. She tugs weakly at his hand and he follows, climbing up beside her. Her skin is clammy with fear as he wraps his arms around her, loose and careful, just enough to be reassuring but not enough to cage. She settles against him, and now he can feel the racing of her heart against his own chest, the way it skips over beats as it slows, her breath ragged against the curve of his neck. </p><p>He brushes her sweat soaked hair away from her face with gentle fingers. </p><p>“You’re okay,” he says again and again. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.” </p><p>Slowly, her breathing eases, the tension in her body slipping away as her heart slows to its normal pace. She shifts her head back, nose catching at his chin. Her breath is warm against his skin as she breathes. </p><p>Theon waits, knowing that she wants to speak, his hand never stilling it’s gentle caress through her hair. </p><p>He feels delicate fingers ghost over his side and curl against his back, tangling into the loose fabric of his sleep tunic. She holds on tight. </p><p>“Will you stay with me?” She asks, head resting against the curve of his arm and her pillow. She stares at him in the darkness, waiting for his answer. </p><p>“Of course, your grace,” he tells her at once.</p><p>She smiles, small and painfully soft, her eyes finally falling shut. When she speaks again it’s low, nearly too quiet to hear even in the now silent room around them, but Theon hears her anyway. </p><p>“Promise me?” </p><p>He breathes the oath into the crown of her head. His lips brushing against soft, damp hair. </p><p>“I promise, I’ll stay with you, Sansa,” he whispers, “always.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Didn’t think I’d write anything for the GoT fandom but a rewatch inspired this</p></blockquote></div></div>
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